


Family is Not an F-Word

by grubbies



Series: This is a Love Story [3]
Category: Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Other, Self-Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 20:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grubbies/pseuds/grubbies
Summary: The thing is, for a little while, he’d come around on the whole “family” thing. They’d had a child, and for a moment, for just a short, perfect moment, they were so, so happy. All of them together. It was… it was like heaven.Eddie clings to those memories now.Memories of Venom and him, swaddling their baby between them, 'like a little avocado' Eddie had laughed, holding the precious ball of goo and eyes to his chest.Heaven.But then they'd left. Eddie understands why, he does. But that doesn’t change the fact that it feels like a piece of him had been ripped away.Family hurts, it always hurts. Better not to try.





	Family is Not an F-Word

**Author's Note:**

> ok so first off this is very long but also very rushed pacing-wise. I... have a lot of finals but also am very very gay so :/
> 
> I started writing this a while ago after reading volume 7 of the current comics run, and kinda stopped working on it after the whole donny cates twitter thing BUT then i was thinkin - oh hey all the more reason to write this sappy bullshit!  
> Venom is about: understanding the human condition, dealing with past abuse, and the power of gay love! fight me cates!
> 
> anyway here's this rambling nonsense! sorry if the tone jumps around I wrote half of this in a very different mindset than the other so!  
> this is a little (read: a lot) more comics-y than the other stuff i wrote in this series(?), but its in w the same themes and the timeline in my head is just... picking and choosing whats canon anyway.
> 
> ignore the title lmao this has nothing to do w deadpool

* * *

He tries to remember what it was like, all those years ago. What it was like to be a whole being, just him. If he ever was whole, before, that is. Maybe he wasn’t. Probably - he wasn’t.

He feels his breath, his chest heaving. He knows he’s supposed to be saying something, reacting, but how can he when he’s only got part of a mind?

He stares ahead, but he’s not _seeing_ anything.

Time moves by. Slowly. He’s gotten used to taking too long to reply. But it’s time that used to be taken up by conversation, by feeling, by distracting metaphysical pinkies locked together. And now.. and now and now and now -

“Edward?” the man ( _the_ _piece of shit_ ) asks again. Something in him seethes. The gallon of milk drops to the ground, his hand limp and somehow also cramped, stiff, no longer his own but not in that comforting, comforting way. The other shoppers, the grocery clerk, they all stare at him. So does… “Jesus christ” his dad breathes, just to himself. The woman with him stares at Eddie, examining him, lips pursed.

Everything is foggy after that, like trying to remember a dream hours after waking from fitful sleep. He can't tell if it's his own subconscious keeping the blunt reality from him or his Other’s.

He finds himself back in the foreclosed house he's been squatting in, hours later with a bag full of groceries he's sure he hadn’t remembered to pay for. He should put away the frozen Tater tots (away being in a cooler with bags of ice from the bodega), but instead he goes to the cracked mirror. He stares ahead at himself ( _God what a fucking wreck…)_

He takes a pocket knife to the back of his left hand, a shallow cut but enough. Enough for oily black tendrils over the skin and for the sensation of healing and… and even for a weak, whisper of an emotion, distantly related to protectiveness. Tears well behind his eyes and spill out like a flood.

He alternates between forgetting to eat for days on end (his own hunger is unnoticeable compared to what he's used to) and eating much to much, eating copious amounts of chocolate and… Well… the undeserving. He thinks, somewhere in the edges of his mind, the parts that have learned to be optimistic again, thinks that maybe his darling will react to a good dose of phenylalanine, that maybe He's just hungry.

It never helps.

It's hard ( _no, not hard- impossible)_ to get to sleep now. Each night Eddie lays there, struggles for relief that never comes. He tosses and turns, cries into the empty abyss that has replaces their happy shared mind. Shakes with sadness. He tries to blame it on the worn out mattress or the shitty sleeping bag he used in place of actual blankets, but they'd always shared a bed like this one, and it'd never been a problem before. Because they were _together_ …

He tries drinking himself to sleep, crying himself to sleep, but nothing works. Eventually, after he's been up a day or two, he'll pass out from the exhaustion, but it's never quite _rest._

* * *

San Francisco is a huge city, so he figures one (terrible, horrible, excruciating) accidental family reunion was, statistically, enough. I mean, he’d lived here all those years with Anne, and never had any chance encounters. But he’s Eddie Brock, and that meant\s suffering is never through with him, doesn’t it?

He’d started working at the shelter a few blocks from his building. Well, started volunteering, cooking, and, well, he doesn’t say no when there were leftovers to take home. It's not a paying job, but neither is journalism anymore, apparently.

Except then one day he’s doling out spaghetti, and he recognises the kid that walks in. At first he’s not sure where he knows him from. The boy’s wide-eyed, scrawny, looks just like Eddie at his age. But even with the should-be warning, it hits him like a runaway bus when along comes that _fucking asshole_ after the kid. Dad ( _no, Carl)_ is holding a box of non-perishables, and Eddie can’t breath.

He doesn’t even try, at first, because he’s gotten used to not _needing_ to; when his lungs faltered, stupid and human as they were, when he lost his breath, his darling would breath for him. But now he’s alone and he’s choking and -

And “Hey, buddy…” and Joney trails off, waives his hand in front of Eddie’s face. “Can I get something to eat?”. Joney smiles, toothy and kind, genuine. Eddie dazedly gives him a heap of pasta, gestures to the sauteed vegetables. He’s still making unfocused eye contact with the kid…

In an afterthought, he sends a brief request into the missing part of his brain. _I wanna remember_ , he asks. He’s not sure why. Later, laying all alone in the much-too-big-for-one-person tiny twin bed, he’ll think back to the fact that the request was fulfilled, he’ll think, _that means He’s listening…_

But he doesn’t think that now, because now the child glances warily at his father ( _our father…)_ before running over to him.

It’s a warm afternoon for autumn, not too many people coming in today, and after Joney left, there’s no one else in the room. Just Eddie and … just the Brocks. He digs his fingernails into his palms, maybe to ground himself with the pain, but maybe so he could feel the remnants of his love pass over his fingertips, fixing him. He swallows.

“Y-you came to our h-” and then the kid is cut off.

“Here, we uhh, we have stuff to donate…” Carl grips the boy’s hand, pulls him back away from the shaky folding table. Eddie’s mind reaches out, desperately, for his Other, for some comfort, for something.

Doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

He’s on autopilot when he pulls the cardboard box forward, places it on the shelves behind him with the rest. ( _oh great, more bags of rice, not like we have enough of those…_ )

“It’s good to see you”, Eddie’s voice is wry, raw with emotion, cruel sarcasm. Carl frowns, and the distraction gives the boy a chance to come up the table.

“You came to our house!” he shouts. Eddie’s heart feels a little wrong, a little lopsided.

“We-” ( _no it’s not we anymore, idiot)_ “I… yeah…” and then he thinks that maybe he actually managed to get to sleep, real sleep, the kind where you dream, because this is insane. His dad being here, _here,_ donating to a homeless shelter? His father who wouldn’t raise his employees wages a quarter an hour because ‘they didn’t work hard enough’. Why is he here? And the _child…_

“Come on, Dylan, get away from him” and the old man tries to pull him away, but he’s rooted to the spot, like a deer in the headlights.

Eddie sees so much of himself in him.

“Dylan” he mouths the name, it feels foreign in his mind. Suddenly the idea is so present in his mind; this kid is his _family…_ and then he isn’t even aware of what he’s saying. “We… we should talk…”

So that’s how the three of them find themselves, sitting in the back on plastic crates (Carl appears as if he’s afraid to catch the plague, rubs his hands with sanitizer for the second time so far). Dylan’s got a pack of oreos Eddie’d dug up for him, didn’t offer dad ( _Carl, it’s carl you don’t have a dad you asshole_ ) anything.

They’re silent for a while, painfully awkward, each of them almost terrified of what would happen if they dared speak.

But kids are brave, not yet worn down by the weight of the world. “You’re my brother, right? I heard my parents talking and they said-”

Eddie’s blood beats in his ears and he barely hears Carl say “he’s _not_ your brother”, barely hears it but he sure fucken’ feels it, like a punch in the gut. God, he says it with such finality…

“I am..” and it’s almost like Eddie’s words have a mind of their own ( _they don’t anymore_ ). He’s shaking, limbs as thick as an old oak but he feels like he’s a sapling caught in a storm. “We’re…” and it’s _not we_ and he can’t say _family_ because he _doesn’t have one shut up you asshole you don’t deserve a family you’d ruin it like it ruined you. Fuck family._

God he misses having a voice other than his own yelling at him.

And then they all fall silent again. They both look at him with cautious curiosity, fear, Carl examining him like a disgusting specimen. Why -

Then he remembers. Or, remembers what he’d been told.

Either way, it all becomes pretty clear the next time the boy opens his mouth.

“There was a monster…”

“He’s not a monster!” Eddie rasps before he has time to think, eyes cloudy. _Why would he say that? He’s not a monster we’re not a monster!_

“But…” Dylan’s face goes sour. He crumbles his last half a cookie between his thumbs. Carl just keeps staring at Eddie, stony gaze offering no emotion (just like always).

“You really are going to hell, Edward”. Eddie’s chest is tight. “I mean, what was that, some kind of demon? You’re insane”. Dylan looks back and forth between them, confusion on his face. Something long-forgotten and atrophied in Eddie wants to reach out to him, to wrap him up in an embrace, to take him away from - “I mean, what are you even doing back here? Last I heard you were over in New York ruining you life and -”

“Dad…” Dylan whispers and looks at him almost imploringly. It’s so… familial. Eddie feels numb. Carl goes tight-lipped again. Eddie presses his palm into the sharp, cracked shard of plastic on the corner of his makeshift chair, and he tries not to think about how fucked he is for hurting himself just for a second’s worth of contact, for a tiny breath of his lost love. He fails.

“Sorry” the man murmurs.

Eddie’s eyes fall shut. _Please… please darling, come on, I need you… please talk to me._ No one answers. “Listen we… _I’m_ sorry for whatever happened that night. I never meant to…” He buries his head in his hands. His cheeks are warm and wet, salty. He’d forgotten about how difficult it is to be _human_.

The conversation continues on, drags for what feels like forever. Everything takes so _long_ now. The worst part is how calm Carl is, and how almost… a little disinterested, a little out of it.

They talk superficial talk about how things have changed, about Carl’s new wife (“she’s a doctor” Dylan mentions), about Dylan’s school work, about how Dylan’s been encouraging him to be more charitable (hence their being here).

Yeah, they talk about Dylan.

They don’t talk about the past.

(“Eddie, why’d you move away to New York? Didn’t you like it here?” the kid asks, all bright eyed. Silence falls.

“I, uhh… just wanted a change of pace” and his eyes flit to Carls. Eddie’d never been a good liar, too open. )

They don’t talk about that night, about… _Venom._

(“Why… What… happened… with that… c-creature?” Eddie winces, tries to say something but can’t. Dylan stares at him as he works as hard as he can to not cry.

“It was… all a misunderstanding”. Carl tries to make his voice firm. “Besides, it’s gone now, right?”

He can’t stop the tears no matter how hard he tries. _Yeah, gone._ )

Eventually, the conversation lulls, no more questions for Dylan to ask about journalism or silicon valley assholes or the big scary alien (“you… you ain’t gotta worry about all that”, Eddie’d finally managed to reply, heart heavy).

Carl gets caught up in a phone call, and Eddie pulls the kid aside, before they go. Because as much as the two of them look like a healthy family, looks can be deceiving. “Listen I know… I know we don’t know each other, but if… if he ever hurts you-”

“No!” he answers too fast, Eddie thinks. “He’s… he’s a good dad I promise… I-” Dylan looks up at him, sadness crawling over his face. Maybe he’s being defensive, or maybe he just meant it. “He wasn’t to you, was he?” he’s perceptive for a - a however old he is kid.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. “Just, if he ever isn’t, if - if he, or if _anyone_ , hurts you, or even just if you… you need something… I uh - I’m here, ok?” he hands the child a piece of paper with his phone number scrawled on it. “Call if-” then he takes it back. “You know what, come by even, if you need to” and before he can think about giving a young boy the address of a seedy abandoned tenement, he writes directions to his place on the back of the paper. Dylan flashes a toothy grin and shoves it into his pocket.

* * *

He brings a bottle of whisky with him to bed, and looking back at the day none of it feels real. Why had he even talked to them? Why had he… felt so close to that kid? _See, nothing good ever comes of talking to family._

Maybe he should leave the city…

* * *

There are so many things that are harder now. This is just another one of them.

Following the creep down the alley (no more senators or chiefs of police or tech startup fucks - he can’t all by himself), Eddie’s eyelids are tired, his breath and legs heavy from chasing, chasing. From not sleeping.

But he’s done this for a long time, and even his half of ‘a long time’ is enough. Besides, his Other was barely a trace ( _don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t_ ), but He could still protect him if anything went wrong. God Eddie prays something goes wrong.

Nothing does. No one around to make a scene but the poor man the guy was after (he gets away safe, no pain but the terror of watching what Eddie does to his attacker). The man needed to die, and Venom needed food.

But _fuck_ it’s harder alone.

If you asked Eddie if he’d trade his humanity for the Symbiote, he’d chose Him, every time. No question. He’d push it all away, do anything, for Him.

(He’d enjoy it, revel in it).

But still, this is visceral, painful, disgusting on his own. A stark reminder that he ended up with neither.

He doesn’t eat it all, but even a few bites of a deltoid, hamstring, amygdala make him shudder. And it’s not like he hadn’t learned to _like_ it. Years of hunting, of feeding off the viscera and neurotransmitters, of finding himself pressed down into a pool of blood beside the bodies, pleasure and positive feedback and -

He’d learned to love it, if he was being honest. But it didn’t change the way he gagged on the tendons.

And it didn’t change the way that the taste of copper only made him miss his darling more. _Please, Honey! Come on, predator brains, our favorite snack… come’on…_

* * *

It’s been almost four months, and the squat’s almost starting to look… homey. Make no mistake, it’s not a home, because home is a feeling, home has a family ( _oh fuck where is all of this shit coming from?_ ). It’s not a home because it’s just him.

But it’s starting to resemble one. He’s dragged up some pallets to lay his mattress on and stuff his overdue library books under. He’s collected a stock of groceries from the shelter and the wooden wine boxes stacked like shelves almost look like a real, full, functional-adult-type pantry. He even found an old desk on the street on scrap metal pickup day, something to encourage him to write.

Eddie thinks, _when He comes back to me, to us, we’ll have somewhere nice to settle into again._ Fuck he missed the _domesticity_.

The thing is, for a little while, he’d come around on the whole “family” thing. They’d had a child, and for a moment, for just a short, perfect moment, they were so, so happy. All of them together.

 _‘Sleeper_ ’ the kid called themself. Eddie couldn’t figure out if the name was sweet or creepy, but the baby… God the baby was perfect.

They’d had it, the three of them - they’d had a family. It was… it was like _heaven._

His father had told him a thousand times growing up that he’d go to hell: he’d say it when he thought of Eddie’s mother, when Eddie embarrassed him in front of coworkers, when he heard the school rumor about Eddie and the quarterback, in the locker-room, the first time…

And yeah sure right now, alone with his thoughts and his cold, unheated broken home, the old guy was right. But for a moment… for a moment everything was _beautiful_ _._

Eddie clings to those memories now. Memories of the overwhelming joy when Sleeper came into this world, all the odds stacked against them but they were a little fighter from the very first moment. Memories of their babbling little voice and their happy, oozing smile. Memories of trying to coax them into a puppy or a rat or any kind of host but then - apparently they were too human to need it.

Memories of Venom and him, swaddling their baby between them, 'like a little avocado' Eddie had laughed, holding the precious ball of goo and eyes to his chest.

 **_Our perfect child_** **,** the Symbiote had murmured, wrapped around them both.

_Heaven._

But then they left. Eddie understands why, he doesn't. But that doesn't change the fact that it feels like a piece of him had been ripped away.

_Family hurts, it always hurts. Better not to try._

* * *

He’s going for a jog in the park when he gets a call. He doesn’t recognize the number, and his shitty seven dollar burner is always getting spam calls, so he doesn’t answer. But there’s a voicemail.

It’s Dylan.

It’s nothing important ( he was terrified at first, thought… thought he’d been right, about ol’ dad…). The kid’s soccer practice was cancelled and he needs a ride home and Carl and Lydia were both at work, and it's cold… and rainy… and an awfully long walk back home…

“I didn’t have anyone else to call, and uhh… you said If I needed anything…”

_Since when am I this big a softie?_

So then, twelve minutes later, he’s in front of a middle school, waving the kid over. Somehow, after all of the alien goop and space travel and rich CEOs, this was the most unexpected turn his life could take right now.

“Woah, cool! You ride a motorcycle! Badass!” and it’s only then that he realizes it probably isn’t safe to take an 11 year old ( _11, that’s how old he is_ ) on the beat up bike in the bad weather.

But he chuckles and hands Dylan his own, too-big-for-the-kid helmet, and lifts him onto the back seat.

They don’t go to his house, not first. Eddie asks him if he wants ice cream (because, you know, kids), but it’s too cold so they end up getting cinnamon rolls and hot cocoas.

Dylan’s great.

He tells Eddie about the prank he pulled on his math teacher that morning, about how gross his school lunch was. About how other kids pick on him…

“You stand up for yourself, ok? Don’t let people tell you to just roll over, turn the other cheek, that they’ll ignore you if you do because they _won’t_. Stand up for yourself” Eddie tells him. It’s what he needed to hear when he was young, at least.

Dylan laughs. “I’m not buff like you!”

“I didn’t mean punch them!” Eddie smiles, but it’s not quite true. “Besides, I’m sure you're scrappy, got some fight in you!” Dylan’s got hot chocolate all over his face. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Eddie doesn’t feel so alone.

And then all he could think about is… is how much the Symbiote would love the kid. They’d call people names behind their backs and laugh about how dumb Eddie looks when he trips down the stairs, eat much too much chocolate together. Eddie hopes the heartbreak doesn’t show on his face.

God their house is fucking fancy. Eddie feels so out of place here.

_You are out of place here! This isn’t your family, your happy childhood! Stop getting involved, pretending you belong here!_

He'd hoped nobody would be home when they got there, but Carl's just pulled in the driveway (in a fucking mercedez, of course). _This can’t go well._

He’s right.

“What the hell were you thinking, taking him on that thing!” He shouts. Dylan looks back and forth between them and cowers in the doorway.

“It was cold, he needed a ride home!”

“That’s none of your business!”

Dylan shifts from one foot to the other, stares blankly at a game of tetris on his phone, not wanting to be part of the argument but not wanting to leave.

Carl continues berating Eddie as he turns away to go; “You’re not part of this picture, Edward! And if you ever speak to my son again I swear to god -”

“Take care, Dylan” and for a moment he’s almost glad his Other’s gone because if Eddie were whole, if Venom were whole, they’d have bitten the man’s head off by now. Dylan leans against the car and sniffles, wipes his eyes. Looks like things really don’t change.

* * *

_He’s never coming back._

It’s like a constant, terrible thought. Like a throbbing headache. Eddie’s not sure if he actually believes it, but always there is that voice, with it’s mantra, over and over again: _He’s never coming back._ Venom’s lifeless, thoughtless body is concentrated around his lungs, down his spine. He’s heavy.

His hands shake as he tries to scrape the peeling walls. Some lingering sanity in his ( _empty, empty_ ) head has been bugging him about lead paint. No more healing.

Black tendrils brush over his skin, momentary, just for seconds, and steady him.

Or maybe he’s just imagining things.

A few hours later he’s finished all the walls, and loneliness and self-doubt must be great motivators, because he starts fixing the hinges on the door. Sick of having to lift the wood every time he wants to open it.

_This is a lot of work for nothing._

He bolts the metal more securely to the doorframe.

_You can fix the house all you want, you can’t fix Him. We'll still be broken._

He sands off the splinters from where the corner drags along the floor.

_This isn’t a home._

Maybe two minutes after he closes the door (a perfect fit, now), there’s a knock. Eddie’s on the second floor of the building, no one below him, barely anyone even on the block, at the edge of town; half the houses on the row have red exes nailed on their door.

People around here don’t generally _knock._

But then he feels it. Feels like heart is pulling out of his chest, pulling him to the door, to -

It opens, and then, just - “ _Hi dad_ ”.

Sleeper’s still wearing that _fucking piece of shit_ around, like a prosthetic, like a metaphorical fur coat made of a particularly impressive hunting trophy. They don’t _need_ a host, it… maybe it's just for show. Eddie thinks, just a small thought, somewhere in the background of his consciousness; _Hope he’s suffering. Hope there’s enough of Tel-kar left for him to be aware of the pain._

But the thought is gone as quickly as it had come, because the child reaches out and wraps their hands around each of Eddie’s.

_Oh._

And for the first time in months, he feels _whole._

He falls to his knees, overwhelmed by it, by the sudden waterfall supernova seizure transition from being empty and alone and terrified- to feeling not only Sleeper’s existence hand-in-hand with his, but also…

His Other’s _there,_ abstract and wordless, just a feeling, a presence, but He’s _whole._

Eddie’s overwhelmed, everything spilling out. The kid wraps their arms (or something like that) around him, now only half connected to their ( _pathetic excuse for a_ ) host.

“What’s happening?” Eddie cries, hot tears rolling down his cheek. He must have finally snapped. The echoing silence of his head must have finally driven him insane, because the kid can’t be here, _Venom, my Venom, can’t be here._

He can feel that He is, though, can feel so much. Can feel His love, Feel Him reaching out and holding him tight in the metaphysical space where their souls entwined like two bodies through an infinite black night. Eddie can feel Him but… it's like He's far far away, too far to hear. _Oh god, darling say something! Please -_ “Oh Sweetheart say something, what’s happening?”

Eddie looks up, feels Sleeper give him a reassuring squeeze, almost like a hug. _Almost like a family._

“ _Sorry, took too long_ ” they explain, and Eddie still can’t stop sobbing. He feels raw, like an exposed wound, all the protective layers stripped away. It’s not any particular emotion, just _feeling_ and much too much of it. _“Felt your pain, Venom’s pain, but it took time, to return_.”

“What’s going on?” he chokes, holding their shifting form.

“ _Healed Him_ ”

The world stops turning. Universe stops expanding. Time and space stop existing.

“Wh-”

“ _Have enough tenuous connection, to… to the others… to heal Him. Enough connection_ .” from his heart Venom glows with something that feels like **_home_ **but everything is still fuzzy, blurry, a second out of sync.

“Wha- what do you mean? What does that mean?” and Sleeper is standing again, pulls Eddie to his feet. “I don’t understand I don’t-” _Oh sweetheart are you back? I can’t hear you I can’t I can’t I can’t._

 _It’ll take time,_ they send over their shoe-string synaptic connection, before embracing him once more. “ _It’ll take a moment, but my parent will return_ ”.

Then they pull away. Physically, neurologically. The shallow bond breaks, and once again Eddie feels the world shift. Sleeper steps back, wholly melted back onto that _evil thing._

And they start to _leave._ It’s all happening too fast. “No, no! Please… please stay this time… We could.. We’re a family” and he’s not even sure any of it is intelligible over his tears, over the sound of _hurt._

“ _Want to…”_ they start, and Eddie clutches their hand and tugs them softly. But they shake their head, “ _Our kind… don’t have family. Not besides… you, Venom_ ” Eddie reaches out again, but his limbs are weak, and he falters. “ _Don’t worry, He’ll be back soon. You won’t be alone_ ”. Sleeper reaches to him instead, send a wave of reassurance and warm morning sunlight before walking out the door.

Leaving Eddie and the shadow of his love alone on the sawdust covered floor.

He thought it would be gradual. Before, when He’d been hurt badly, when the Symbiote had healed Himself - it’d been gradual.

When they’d only been together a few days, the rocket fire had almost killed Him. But He’d fought His way back to Eddie (who’d spent the whole time mourning Him). First Eddie had been able to feel Him, His presence pressed up against his. Soon His voice had returned, He was able to refine his presence, concentrate himself and move from the abstract. Days later He was strong enough to form His body again, to wrap Eddie up in blackness and _togetherness_.

And when they’d been ripped apart and tortured, taken apart intricately- fully reconnecting took almost a whole day and a whole night of reaching, desperately, for one another, closer and closer by metaphysical millimeters until they were touching again. Gradual.

But this time's different.

The seconds ticks by, Eddie unable to do anything but sit there, hold his legs to his chest.

Thirteen minutes, and nothings changed, Venom’s still wordless, thoughtless, nebulous. Eddie feels waves of **_love_ ** and **_mine_ ** and even **_sorry_ **but they're ungrounded, metaphysical, not solid enough for Eddie to hold onto and brace himself against in a storm. 

Twenty-one minutes, and he tries to pick himself up off the ground, but his legs are no more solid than the Symbiote’s feelings.

Eddie wonders what it’s like for Him. Is He unaware of Himself, like this? Or does He know He’s still in pieces, can He feel Himself strewn about? Feel the pain of fixing Himself? Or maybe to Him, He’s whole, and Eddie’s far away, unrealized? Has he been aware, the whole time, uncomplete, trapped on the other side of some wall?

Twenty-nine minutes and time is still passing so slowly.

Forty-seven minutes and Eddie chokes and chokes, holds himself (he’d gotten so used to holding himself, themself - it wasn’t like this) tightly and digs his nails into his skin.

Sixty-four minutes.

Eighty-nine minutes.

One-hundred and twelve minutes. Nothing's changed.

One-hundred and twenty-seven minutes. The other times, it's been gradual.

Now it’s like it’d been raining and raining and flooding - it’s like a damn broke.

Spilled over him.

Fingers entwined his.

 **_Eddie! Eddie Eddie_ ** **“Eddie! Oh Eddie”** **_My Eddie._ **

He still can’t breath but who cares now? He doesn’t need to, doesn’t need anything but- “Oh darling my darling my love” and they’re wrapped up in each-other, so tight his muscles constrict, so tight it hurts but it’s _perfect._

**_So perfect._ **

_Oh my love, what- how-_ and now it’s his thoughts that are too muddled to shape into words or thoughts of words, too nebulous, borderless to speak or reason. But they don’t need to shape them, they can just feel them. Can feel Eddie’s love and joy and relief, his confusion. Can feel something like lavender and honey and then Eddie’s nervous worry that this is a figment of his imagination or some neurotic defense mechanism of a still-lifeless Symbiote. And they can feel Venom’s radiant happiness and still too a bottomless hunger, not for food or neurotransmitters but for Eddie and for Eddie’s love and for Eddie’s heart, the organ and the concept of it and _everything_. 

**_Never leaving again. Never. We’ll never be apart again._ **

_I love you._

**“I love you”**

There is lingering pain, still, but it doesn't matter. They're together now, and how could anything else matter? 

* * *

They haven’t stopped holding hands since they were able to do so, and Eddie’s fingers should be cramped up, sore, but they’re not. Everything just feels so _good._

Venom nuzzles his face with His as they lay in bed, bathed in fluorescent afterglow. Eddie presses another kiss to his Symbiote's cheek. Then another. Then another and another and another until they're both just _melting_ with joy. They're playing the day over in their head, and Eddie's trying to grasp how just this morning, just a few _hours_ ago he was all alone and now - 

**"Stop"** He growls, voice so smothering and deep and _oh god_ he wants to drown in it. **"Stop worrying. We won't be alone again".**

And Eddie knows that, doesn't he? Venom's so _strong_ , there's nothing to be afraid of with Him around. More tension falls from his body and washes away. _Won't be alone again._ These past few months - it was probably the worst time in his life, and that's a real fucking high bar, but it's like nothing now.No, now once again the infinity they'll share stretches out in front of them and "oh darlin', of course not, never alone again". He brings their entertwined hands to his lips and kisses the wedding ring. "Never alone. Married", and the Symbiote swells with love. 

Rain begins to pitter-patter on the roof, gentle at first but growing louder. Even just the very beginnings of a storm, even this light spring, finds its way through the ceiling and past the spaces where the glass of the window doesn't quite meet the frame. Cold seeps in with the damp, and Venom pulls the sleeping bag further over their boneless body. Bodies. _**Our body.**_

"Our body" Eddie mumbles sleepily, jaw slack and tongue heavy. He's yawning, eyelids struggling to stay open and Venom cuddles him close _._

Wind howls again the rickety windows, but somehow it only makes their little nest feel more like a sanctuary. The Symbiote looks around the space - **"See, it was worth it to fix this dump up".**

“Yeah?” Eddie’s face is still screwed up in a too-big grin. It's almost overwhelming - this sense of completeness.

**_Yes. Pretty home for us._ **

_Yeah._

Venom's - well, restless isn't really the right word. Giddy, maybe. _**Whatever**_ it is, He certainly can't sleep. Everything's to big. Too good. He has little understanding of how much time has passed, but Eddie's pain is His pain and it _hurts._ It hurts how long they were separated. 

But now He’s back, back with His host, His husband, His love, right where He belongs.

Eddie shivers, and He pulls the vinyl sleeping bag further over them. **_Oh sweet Eddie. My Eddie. Mine._** He hates that He let them be taken from one another. He - He'll protect them know. He will, He _can._ Has to. He doesn't know what He'd do if they were taken apart yet again. The world is so cruel, but He'll _protect_ them. 

He tries to join His Other in slumber, but He can't quite do it. 

Tries and tries and tries and - "mhhmm" Eddie yawns, rolling over onto his back and his perfect blue eyes fluttering open just a crack. "Hey there starlight" he whispers, and Venom's glad He's not asleep, or else He might miss the most beautiful sight in all the universe.

**_Eedddddie. Eddie Eddie Eddie my Eddie._ **

Eddie huffs out a tired, soft laugh. "Can't sleep?" he murmurs, and affection washes everywhere. Warm and enveloping and _theirs._

The Symbiote spills out of His host further, until He's got big strong arms to clutch Eddie close and an almost solid face to purr up against his blushing cheek and teeth to scrape his skin. **"Hungry, Eddie. Hungry",** and before He can stop Himself (not that He would) He's kissing Eddie's neck and pushing his legs apart. **_Missed my Eddie so much._**

* * *

A few weeks back together and they’re painting the walls. They’d taken a couple of twenties out of the wallet of a… particularly rich dessert… the other night, and splurged on a nice sage color. A few days before they had fixed the windows, and even put up some real lights, gotten the electricity turned on in the place.

But now they’re getting more paint on one another then on the plaster and sheetrock, and two-toned laughter and joyful tears are everywhere. The future feels close, coming fast, and for once it’s actually a _comfort._

**_How long are squatter’s right in this California, doll?_ **

“If you don’t know I don’t know. We don’t know” he tries to reach the top of the wall, can’t, and an inky tentacle pulls the brush from his hand and finishes the high bit Eddie can't quite get to. Venom knocks the cobwebs away, and Eddie laughs and fondly swats as his Other rubs the brush across his cheek. “Stop’t, asshole” but his voice is all soap-bubbles and summer grass on toes.

* * *

Anne still lives in town. When Eddie was alone, he’d visited her once, but it had been… so hard. She’d brought up the years that had past and Venom and... and the _baby_ … it was too much. Seeing her there, still married to her _perfect Dan_. Expecting their second child. He didn’t want to cry in front of her, alone, so he left, didn’t visit again, didn’t call to meet for coffee like she’d asked, concern lacing her voice.

But now they invite her to dinner **( _not that kind of dinner, don’t worry Eddie_ ).** And not at their squat **( _Our house, Eddie. Our home_** _,_ He corrects), but at the Korean restaurant down the street.

She brings perfect Dan and baby Mia and it’s nice.

It’s so, so _nice._

“... Eddie?” and Dan snaps to get his attention, asking for an answer to a question they completely missed.

_**So distractable, my little treasure. Together, together now, you think too much. You worry too much, Eddie.** _

He hums softly, leaning back and staring up, eyes unfocused.

“Eddie!” and he realizes he’d already checked out of the conversation yet again.

“Sorry, what were you saying? He was uhh - distracting me.” At least with them he doesn’t have to make up an excuse, can just be honest.

“I- I asked how writing was going? Seems like dark times for the free press.”

“Oh it’s even worse than it looks” he growls, sudden anger washing any other thoughts away.

**_We really have to get back to a strict diet of politicians and lobbyists._ **

_Maybe some businessmen too, yeah?_

**_Delicious._ **

* * *

They collapse lazily, maybe melodramatically, on the couch after dragging it up the stairs. It's garbage night and someone had left it on the curb, and they decided, finally, to brave the possibility of bedbugs.

Venom peels off of him slightly and into a more separate form, holds him close to His would-be chest, Eddie’s face buried in His would-be shoulder.

He runs His thumb over the back of his hand, and then they both still. Eddie winces as the memories bubble up, as he feels the Symbiote process them. He'd been putting this off…

**_You hurt yourself._ **

There's no point in denying it. No room for secrets between them. Instead he just presses a kiss to his love’s jaw. “I needed you… the pain… the wounds hurt less then your not bein' here.”

But there is nothing he can say that could possible quell the anger, not really at him but hot and smothering all the same

They’re red and ragged and hurt and Eddie heart is soft. “Starlight, I-”

A sound stops them, like an opening door and -

And maybe, _maybe_ the worry and pain would have frothed over into an argument, maybe not, either way they don’t get a chance to find out, interrupted by a knock at the door.

They shake as they momentarily, tenderly examined the memory of the last time someone had knocked on that door.

But they don’t feel their presence.

Feel…

“Eddie! Eddie please open up!” a voice cries. _Oh._

The Symbiote frantically sinks back into his skin, into a t-shirt and sweats, as they scramble up. The knocking becomes louder. Getting from the couch to the door is the longest four and a half seconds it could be.

Dylan is a mess. His eyes are red, snot running from his nose. He’s shaking, and Eddie’s suddenly very aware of the fact that it’s the middle of the night.

There’s a big bruise around his left eye and down his cheek…

Eddie pulls him into a hug - they both do, both control their arms then and tug him closer. They never want to let him go.

Since He’d come back neither had paid too much attention to what had happened in their months apart. But now… now the Symbiote feels it all hit Him. Now He tightens Eddie’s arms around the kid, reverberates Eddie’s waves of worry and _family._

**_We should kill that son of a bitch._ **

_Let’s hear what happened first,_ but they’re both pretty set on the picture in their head. They know that picture firsthand. First-and-a-half hand.

They lock the door, build up the fire in the make-shift woodstove and wrap the kid in an oversized winter jacket. It’s not really that cold but he’s in some sort of shock and he’s shaking and -

Dylan rubs tears from his eyes. “I-I’m sorry. Eddie I’m s-s-sorry… I didn’t know where else to go and… and and-” he chokes. Eddie feels tears prickle the edges of his eyes, and he pulls the kid close again. He notices another bruise on his wrist.

_Yeah, we should kill that son a bitch._

“I didn’t know wh-where to go and I was scared and… Eddie please can I stay, just for a little while I-I promise I’ll be good and-”

“Of course you can stay”

Then the Other adds, in Eddie’s voice, still not quite getting _human_ right but neither can find it in them to care, “as long as you want.” And He does his best to feel like cotton as the poor child cries against their shoulder.

After a moment to calm and still themselves, Eddie dares ask.

“What happened?” his voice breaks, but the Symbiote puts it back together. “You don’t have to answer just… _shit!”_ and now he’s crying too, eyes blurred but all he can see when he closes them is the first time his father slapped him across the face. “Did… _dad_ … do this?” His Symbiote breathes for him.

“No…” he sounds unsure. He’s sitting on his own now, slumped against the wall, and Eddie runs his hand over his shoulder soothingly. Dylan sniffles. “I… he really is a good dad…” the kid wipes his nose and tries to calm down. Tries. “It… I got in trouble at school, and my mom was angry and she…” he sobs again and motions to his face. “And then - and then - then - then d-dad came in… and… Eddie I’m _sorry_ ”.

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok, you’re safe, you’re safe”

Dylan has bruises on his face, his arms, down the left side of his chest. His ankle is twisted from where he fell on the ground, running as fast and as far as he could from that house. Eddie wonders-

 **_He’d feel it._ ** Eddie hadn’t even realized he’d asked. **_If we fixed him, he’d feel it._ **

_But…_ _(but humanity is so fragile, but he needs us, but we’re family and he’ll meet you soon anyway, but …)_ “listen we uhh, got the hot water working the other day” and he internally chastises himself for forgetting _‘I’,_ “why don’t you go take a shower, get cleaned off, get warm? I’ll make us something to eat, ok? You like pancakes?”

He wipes a tear from his cheek. “Do... do you have chocolate chips?”

**_Kid’s got good taste, Eddie._ **

Venom manifests Himself, once they hear the water running from behind the bathroom door. He takes control of Eddie’s arms and of the pancake making process; “you always were the better cook, darling” he murmurs, a smile creeping through the veil of heartbreak on his face.

Then a new wave of sadness overtakes them both, knocks the wind from their shared, raw lungs. **_And you were always the better parent…_ **

_What are you talking about? Don’t say that!_ The Symbiote barely, just barely, remembers to flip a pancake before it burns. Something the same color as a torn aorta, the same shape as an earthquake. “Don’t say that-” _please._

 **_Even Sleeper was closer to you. Our little symbiote…_ **and He isn’t quite sad just…

“I’m supposed to be the self loathing one.” He tries to laugh, but his voice is hoarse. _They love you… we could feel it._

**_Came back to you… came back for you._ **

“To heal you, love, _you_ …”

 **“So** **_you_ ** **wouldn’t be alone”**

It’s not quite an argument. They run their fingers, (of fingers and not-fingers) over one another against the handle of the plastic spatula. He licks up Eddie’s cheek affectionately. Reassuringly. It’s not quite an argument, more like each were trying to sooth the other, distract them from the weight of reality bearing down on their shared shoulders.

It’s not quite an argument because they both know the truth, even if it’s hidden under all the layers. _They don’t know us as separate, just love us, together._ They both know the truth but neither quite bone-deep feel it.

Dylan looks ridiculous, wearing one of Eddie’s last few real, cloth hoodies and a his only pair of pajama pants, the drawstrings pulled tight and the fabric bunched up. He’s swimming in them, and he laughs when he notices his reflection in the dirty window _._

 _He’s better at coping then I ever was._ The kid picks up a heaping plate of pancakes and Eddie ruffles his wet hair. “We can get you some clothes tomorrow” he mumbles, mouth full too, unable to control _someone’s_ sudden chocolate cravings.

The boy smiles, small and real, and takes a bite. “Tomorrow…” he mumbles, mouth full.

It’s almost three a.m. and Dylan must be fucking wiped out. He’s still up, finishing off his pancakes, telling a story about some science teacher at his school accidentally printing a picture of his first ever (very very bad) selfie in the library and all the kids taping copies up in the hallways. Trying to stay distracted, Eddie knows the feeling.

But he’s rubbing his eyes and (poorly) stifling his yawns; the shock must be wearing off. “Come’on, bedtime kiddo”.

It's a lucky coincidence **(** ** _fate Eddie, fate_** **)** that they got that couch today, because the kid needs somewhere to sleep. Of course, Dylan gets the bed, but then, that means they need somewhere to sleep.

_Can you fix bedbugs, love?_

**_Can eat them off you…_ **

_Sweetheart, I know you wanted that to come off as sexy but uhhh… no dice._

Eddie makes the bed for the kid as best he can with no sheets and a duffel bag for a pillow.

“I can just sleep on the couch! I… I don’t wanna kick you out of your bed! I don’t-”

“Wanna be a bother?” Dylan’s face sours with familiarity at the words. “He still say that shi- that trash to you? Act like you’re a burden?”

He nods, after a moment of internal denial.

“You ain’t. You’re not a bother, ok?”

He nods again.

“You’ve had the worse day, you get the better bed”. And besides, Eddie could never really be _uncomfortable_ so long as they're together. Hell, he’d sleep better on a cement floor in the freezing rain wrapped up in his Other then he would on a feather bed alone.

Dylan falls asleep almost immediately, out like a light.

Slowly, tentatively, the Symbiote seeps out of Eddie’s left palm, just enough to mirror his hand and lace fingers through his. _Wish I could hold you_ , he sends, along with a vivid image of the two of them, boundaryless, borderless, snuggled up on the couch. And He even completes the picture with a few pulls on Eddie’s nerves. Almost real.

**_Real to us._ **

But…

A brief image of the inside of Eddie's bedroom closet flashes across the inside of his eyelids, across the margins of the Symbiote’s sight, and ‘closeted’ and ‘monster in my closet’, the memories of hiding there when Carl drank and drank and drank. He exhales shakily, a sort of slow, sad, shallow ringing in his veins. The Symbiote shivers at the feeling and coils tight around them, just under the skin.

Some kind of comfort ebbs and flows between them, after a few moments of gentle struggle. Eddie feels a gentle press around his heart. _In the morning._ A sunrise glows on their bond, warning them. _I'm sure he'll love to meet you in the morning._

 **_Don't you think he'll be scared of the big bad monster?_ **And He tries a joking tone, tries to send a chuckle though Eddie's throat or dip their bond in a golden glow of humorous joy. But instead they just go still. Eddie twirls a finger around one of His.

 _No_. _We're family._

The last of the fire starts to burn down to embers, the heat slipping out if the brick chimney. **_Family,_ ** but His tone was a jigsaw puzzle still missing a last piece.

They both wake, over and over, during the night. Sometimes together, or sometimes just one of them will stir, glance over at the slumbering child. When they do sleep, it’s never for more than half an hour at once, and fretful, plagued by images of a painful childhood - each of theirs and then Dylan’s.

When the storm starts, it wakes them both out of a shared dream of _leaving_ , a dream that reminds them that the kid being here, in hiding, probably means they’re gonna have to get out of town. The rain pours in through the holes in the roof and the windows rattle angrily - it helps at first, to lesson the pain, to remind them that this place is still a dump, a squat, a temporary fix.

And then it makes it all so much worse; _there's still so much to do._

 **_We could all make it perfect, together_ ** **.**

A bitter taste of suspense lingers over their bond, coats both of their hearts, but with it a heavy, almost overwhelming feeling of being swaddled in a thick, warm blanket, and the comforting smell of gently burning wood. They lean into the feeling, pass it back and forth lovingly. In the beginning, it was one of the first Eddie managed to put words to, to define out of the abstract realm of their heart. It meant _together,_ in all the depth of a creature defined by incompleteness. By two such creatures.

He conjures up a vivid picture of their little family, maybe somewhere far away but still decidedly all _together._ All four of them.

_Four?_

Four… neither let each other linger on Sleeper’s presence in the daydreams. But Eddie’s chest is a little tight.

Eventually they manage to fall back asleep.

They rise with the sun once and for all, have to stay up, stay on guard in case Carl somehow finds his way here. That kid needs someone looking out for him.

Dylan sleeps ‘til almost noon. The sun filters in through the dust, and he looks… peaceful. **_He looks safe._ **

Then he finally comes to. Dizzy, disoriented. His gaze flits around the room until it lands on Eddie, attempting to get some writing done (to no avail). “Mornin’ kiddo” he smiles, and Dylan laughs with relief as he realizes where he was. He sits up quickly, then winces. Eddie’s face fills sorrow, then. “You still hurt?”

“No no, I-I’m fine” but his gritted teeth give him away. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You slept through breakfast” and Dylan frowns, dejected, before Eddie chuckles - “I was thinking pizza for lunch, but I’m open to options.”

Dylan grins big and for a second, he lets himself think - _I guess I was wrong, it really wasn’t family until now._ Then his stomach grumbles and any existentialism is out the window. “Yeah, pizza sounds great!”

It is great. Eddie’d thought, when he moved in, that the place down the block with the boarded up windows and the dollar slices must just be a front. And it probably was. But their pizza was almost, _almost_ good enough to make him stop missing New York. At least better than anything else on the west coast.

“We never get to have pizza!” Dylan says, burning his mouth and dripping sauce on the floor.

**_Now that’s abuse._ **

* * *

They talk and talk, laugh, but then -

Then -

A room always bristles as it moves into the territory of deep conversation. Like crackling before an electric storm. Dylan looks at him, and it’s pretty clear what he’s looking for. Certainly clear to Venom. He shifts nervously along Eddie’s bones with relentless impatience. **_Oh Eddie_ ** and He tries to calm them but - **_Maybe we shouldn’t, maybe we should wait._ **But it’s His impatience, too, that washes over them both, even drowns out the shared anxiety. Mostly.

“You wanna ask, right? About that night, about…” with his Other’s return had come the return of some missing memories, including his real first encounter with Dylan, and he doesn’t know what to say. Eddie wishes everyone else could see how _simple_ what he and his Other has is, but they all just… can't.

“About the monster?” Dylan’s got marinara on his face, but the humor and childlike innocence do nothing to keep Eddie from wincing at the word. Or to keep the Other from turning a sort of cold color in his heart and veins.

“I… He…” it’s tangled, complex. And then at the same time it's simple, straightforward. Maybe the words are Venom’s or maybe they're his, next. Maybe it doesn't matter; “do you wanna meet Him?”

In hindsight, it’s pretty clear that Dylan thought Eddie was joking, pretty clear he was doing the same when he answers “yeah!”

But they’re both a little over-eager, a little too vulnerable. And so Venom rushes out, so **_happy._ ** He does his best impression of ‘cuddly’, of ‘non-threatening’. He wraps Himself around Eddie’s neck and shoulders, like a particularly affectionate scarf. He takes care to keep any teeth hidden away as He forms a face. He really _tries._

Dylan goes white.

Drops his pizza crust in his lap, eyes wide with shock.He shouts, jumps backwards. Eddie chokes and a shared heart drops to a shared stomach. “Wh-what the hell is that!?”

Worry floods them. _We should have waited it shouldn’t have happened like this._ The world tints the color of ice cubes. _I thought… I thought I thought I thought…_

 **_I’m sorry I’m sorry._ **He sinks back, out of sight.

“Eddie?” Dylan rubs his eyes in disbelief. “Wha… where’d it go?”

After all these years, Eddie’s really, really forgotten how strange this all was. He _knows_ , on a kind of intellectual, logical, memorized-a-phone-number level, that this is crazy. But deep down, it doesn't click. In his heart, it's so… normal. “Dylan… sorry we scared you…” and the kids eyes are still looking around, looking for any sign that He’d been real. “Do… you want Him to come back?”

Dylan nods.

They try again.

Dylan yells again.

The Symbiote hides again.

Third time’s the charm. He takes care to nuzzle Eddie’s cheek as he loops over his shoulder and down his arm, putting on His best show of ‘see? Not a monster!’. Dylan offers a confused smile, and reaches out his hand tentatively.

**“Hi!”**

He snaps his hand back. Talking was another new development to adjust to, but he adjusts all the same. “H-hi”. Then the Symbiote pours down Eddie’s arm and extends it in an handshake, which the kid slowly accepts.

But he still kinda looks like he's going to faint any second. “Dylan…? Are you… ok?” Eddie's voice shakes. _We fucked this up, didn't we?_

**_No! Family, Eddie!_ **

_He just wanted a place to crash, not to get mixed up in all this, we took it way to fast!_

**_No!_ **

But then Dylan reaches out, pets the top of His head. **_See Eddie, see!_ ** And there's that telltale rumbling of of **_I'm always right._ **

“Who are you?”, and there’s a smile creeping over Dylan’s face.

_Ok, ok, maybe just this once things’ll go our way._

It ends up a long conversation. It was hard enough for Dylan just to wrap his head around Venom’s existence, so Eddie thinks maybe it's best not to get into the nuances of ‘oh yeah also we’re together. He lives in my brain and we're together’, quite yet. It's a follow up for later.

Venom has… other ideas.

It isn't _entirely_ His fault. They're talking over a game of jenga and He, it seems, is rooting for the kid. Because every time it's they're move, his Other licks up the side of Eddie's face to distract him. And so maybe he bears some of the blame, for blushing and for eventually knocking down the tower.

“ewwwwwww it's like He's kissing you” Dylan laughs.

I mean, could they really put it off? **“We** **_are_ ** **married, after all”** and He's purring as he controls Eddie's arm to show off his black, alien ring.

The kid’s jaw drops.

But he's good at going with the flow. Guess it runs in the family. “so… I’ve got an alien for a brother-in-law?”

* * *

Dylan still needs some clothes of his own, hadn’t taken anything with him when he’d run away. And Eddie’d promised they’d go in the morning, but then it's pouring rain and they're all worn thin and engrossed by the pile of board games Eddie’d found in the basement of the house and by the VHS tapes on the old box TV and so by sunset they're still all holed up in their little squat. 

But finally after an entire day, it’s time to go shopping. Not just for clothes, but for real blankets and a toothbrush and maybe some scrap lumber to fix up the rotted walls and give the house some actual, solid, _rooms._ A second bed, healthy food for people who _can’t_ subsist on chocolate and dopamine and ligaments. suddenly there's a lot they need.

Because it looks like the kid's here to stay.

They head to the thrift store a few blocks away first. Another thing new to Dylan. Eddie pauses at the entrance of the church which houses it, and for once the Symbiote doesn’t push them. “He still drag you every week?”

The child nods.

But they make it past the intimidating, heavy-with-wood-and-the-weight-of-your-sins doors, and down the stairs to the only people in the church Eddie visits these days - two nice old ladies who always bring their cat Vanilla Bean in to the shop.

“Oh Eddie! Who’s this little cupcake?” Mai asks, pinching Dylan’s cheek. It’s like a sit-com, but the kid loves it, even if he’s dramatically groaning.

Eddie’d had a momentary thought that he’d be put off the the clothes here, but Dylan’s enamored with the worn-soft flannels and the shirts with logos for local stores that haven’t been in business for years. He even grabs a few items for Eddie, who embarrassingly tries to explain “no no, uhh… my husband dresses me… literally”

**_Like you’re my little doll, Eddie…_ **

But when they’re checking out (a loose term for Eddie handing Elisa whatever he has to spare on hand) they hear screams from outside the basement windows, in the alley.

“Hey… wait here for a minute, ok?” Dylan tries to follow, but Mai holds his arm and gives them a knowing look (because hey, who were these sweet eighty year old lesbians going to tell when one day, they saw Eddie and his alien drag away the bigot who had come down here armed with a switchblade and slurs?). He’s pretty sure darkness is already rippling around them by the time they’re up the stairs.

A man who smells like gin and anger has a woman backed into a corner. She sobs and kicks him in the gut, at for a moment, it looks like maybe they’re help isn’t needed here. But then he pulls out a gun and -

And then he’s slammed against the wall-

And then an inhuman growl-

And then the women’s run down the alley and out to the street -

And then the unmistakable taste of blood and muscle and righteousness.

The whole thing only takes four minutes; no savouring the kill today, no extra time for making the man beg or playing with their food. ( _The library closes at four, and we promised we’d check out more tapes_ )

When they get back to the shop, Dylan is feeding little Beanie a broken up cat treat, one piece at a time. They take a moment to watch, a moment for stillness and humanity before the weight of what just happens sinks in. 

Elisa smiles and asks, sadly, fondly, “you’ve really never had any pets before?”

Dylan shakes his head and runs his hand gently over the animal’s back. “Nah, none allowed growing up. Too messy, but I always wanted a ferret or a cat or somethin'.”

“We should get one." The kid lights up. And then he gets a good look at Eddie’s face, and, well, they probably could have cleaned up better.

“Is that… blood?” Eddie winces and Venom tenses employs all the willpower in the world to resist the urge to lick his face clean.

“Come’on, we still have some errands to run, let’s talk at home, ok?” and then he rubs his face with the back of his hand (and once his arm falls, he feels a tell-tale feeling of alien tongue brush over the skin there. _**I mean, wasting food is wrong, right?**_ )

* * *

But that discussion (not at home after all but in the park, the Symbiote curled around Eddie like an especially protective sweater) goes much better than expected, in the end.

Except… “so… you guys hurt people who… do bad things, right?”

**“Yeah”**

“So… how come we’re still hiding from my mom and dad?”

They both knew this conversation was coming, but… it still comes out of nowhere. And yeah, sure, _he’s right._

**_We should._ **

_The longer we leave them, the more time they have to come looking._

**_They’ll get the pigs involved, Eddie…_ **

“Eddie? V-venom?”

Eddie sighs, and they pull Dylan into a hug. He’s shaking. “Are… are you… listen kid you don’t wanna go through… that”.

A moment of silence, and then “it… wasn’t the first time -” like he’s admitting it to himself as much as to them - “that they… hit me”. Eddie swallows a lump in his throat and the Symbiote growls, like a low rumbling, more felt than heard. Dylan’s crying slightly, and Eddie’s always been susceptible to the contagion of tears. “I always told m-myself it was ok… b-b-but, I wanted to stand up for myself and -”

“We’ll fix it”. Eddie tries to make his voice sound firm. The universe is still. Frozen. Patient with them.

“Yeah?”

**“Yeah”**

* * *

And they do.

And they fix the house.

A month, and then it’s Christmas with Anne and her family, complete with a few heated arguments about bringing surprise guests to a holiday party and the legality of kidnapping children. They all end up snowed in together at the Weyings’ (ok, only two inches of slush on the ground but the Symbiote’s dramatic and Anne’s eight months along and why not be snowed in?); they make gingerbread and watch old holiday movies and decorate a tree a few days to late.

On their way home they stop by the pound. They’d seen a flyer about adoption fees being waived for the holidays and they end up with grey Maine coon. 

* * *

A year, and -

Eddie wakes drowsily to the sound of the TV, a song from the nineties he had _very happily_ forgotten until now filtering over a whispered conversation and hushed laughter. He feels a familiar cinnamon and yellow and **_home_ ** feeling wrapped around him.

He shifts and realizes he’s on the couch, rather than he and his Other’s bed, and nudges a sense of confusion to Him. Venom just pulls him closer, and Eddie happily snuggles up to His form. Finally his eyes flutter open, or at least his brain starts taking in something visual from his Other’s eyes, and he looks around to see all of them - himself and his love and Dylan -

And Sleeper, who’s been… staying around... curled up on the couch together. Something in him wants to comment on the children being up at what must be an ungodly hour, but Sleeper is holding the kitten on their lap and Dylan, engrossed in whatever’s happening on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ tells everyone to hush (“shhh shut up! I think he’s gonna object to the wedding!”)

Venom grins, presses a toothy kiss to the side of Eddie’s face. He’s purring, rumbling with the concept of **_family_ ** as Eddie sends back a sleepy, glowing _love._

**Author's Note:**

> ok sorry the ending is vague and rushed, I just.... could't figure out how to stop?? like i wrote the final scene early on but getting from Dylan showing up to there was... so hard. I'm still not really happy w this but! i need to cope w the comics run rn and also i love my sappy babies so!
> 
> thanks!


End file.
